


The Possibility of an Isolated Wish.

by PlushRumps



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, can apply to anyone really, implied cronus/eridan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlushRumps/pseuds/PlushRumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You found them in the country on a sunny day, the taste of sunshine and pollen warm and sticky on your tongue. ' <br/>A short drabble that could apply to almost any pairing, but it was written with Cronus/Eridan in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Possibility of an Isolated Wish.

The two of you had never met before- no chance meetings. You hadn't met at some late night bar, didn't share a desk at school, no random assignment pairings for that misfortune last two.You were one of the first - you chose your partner, always sat alone and never went out late.

You were lucky.

 

One day, you're late for work. Lucky you, having to deal with peak-hour public transport. You sit next to someone that smells of cigarettes and late nights, a man holding a coffee staring you down from the seat across. 'How dare you invade my personal space,' his eyes say, as though one simple being is worth as much as a little comfort; a little space. You rolled your eyes at him.

You didn't meet them on that train.

 

When you get to work one morning, everybody was all hushed and whispering, a new desk placed beside yours. A new colleague, everyone was saying. That colleague turned up for one day and never came back. Office jobs just aren't for everyone, you suppose. 

You didn't meet them at work.

 

When you get home, your child ran up to you and hugged your leg, a tired and well-loved wife toting behind with an alcohol-weary smile. She gives you a kiss and retires to her room, your child giving you a concerned glance.

You didn't meet them at your home. 

 

You're out late for the first time in ever; one of your friends coaxed you to a nightclub, all smoke and alcohol and hormones running on high. You sat quietly at the bar and daydreamed about a field. A happy family, a quaint little house, an income to keep your family stable; kind of like a fairytale. Nobody approached you.

You didn't meet them at the bar. 

 

The tv blares in the back of your conciousness and you hear nothing and everything simultaneously; like on and off became distorted and melded into one-another. A blank nothing hums in the background, 'two dead and one critically injured.' Someone comes in and runs a test or twenty on you but all you can smell is him, all sea salt, early morning coffee and drip drops of sadness. You know who he is, you just have to find him.

You didn't meet him in that hospital bed.

 

You recover and move on with your life, a small flat and a best friend in the city. Rehab twice a week and a prosthetic leg, a new desk to accommodate it. You hate it. You forget all about him, about that smell, and move on. You feel like you've lost a small part of you.

You don't meet him in that city. 

 

You took your now-lover on a trip; a holiday of sorts. You went to the country to see your family, all warm hugs and happy tears. You never thought you'd cry again but when you saw your brother and that smell, that feeling, that  _emotion_ came rushing back, that was all you could do. 

 

You found them in the country on a sunny day, the taste of sunshine and pollen warm and sticky on your tongue. You found them under a thatched roof in a pair of violet swim shorts, skin glistening with the remnants of a midday dip. You found them at the dinner table, making childish jokes and crude impersonations.

 

You found him.

**Author's Note:**

> The title came from a piece in a contemporary blown glass exhibition I saw while I was in the city today, so shoutout to that artist for being creative enough to make others become creative, too.


End file.
